


Idolize

by bramletabercrombie



Category: Colbert Report RPF, Fake News RPF, The Daily Show RPF
Genre: Couch Sex, M/M, Power Imbalance, Shame
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-07
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-02-03 18:25:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1754087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bramletabercrombie/pseuds/bramletabercrombie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Remember, there are two ways to dehumanize someone: by dismissing them, and by idolizing them.”<br/>― David Wong</p>
            </blockquote>





	Idolize

**Author's Note:**

> Set back in 2000.

Stephen Colbert just couldn't help being impressed by Jon Stewart. He admired the man, not only as one colleague might respect another, but also (he had to begrudgingly admit to himself) as a fan idolized a favorite celebrity. Ever since Jon showed up to replace Craig, the show had taken a huge turn for the better, and Stephen was energized by the new promise and ambition his old job now held. Plus, Stephen considered Jon to be an immensely talented performer and writer, from whom he had already learned so much in just one year. Curiously, and contrary to his expectations, seeing Jon nearly every day failed to diminish in excitement despite its routine. The boss/employee relationship afforded just enough distance that Jon still appeared unreal and larger than life, seeming more powerful and unknowable than he could possibly be.

At least Stephen could recognize the irrationality of his feelings. He knew that spending time around Jon seemed all the more invigorating simply because of how strongly it contrasted with the period of anhedonia he had been experiencing lately. It seemed like it had been a long time since he had enjoyed anything genuinely, since his emotions had come out any way besides muted, dull, and detached.

It had all been coming to a head because he had just started to realize, three years in, that his job on the Daily Show was neither going to instantly catapult his career nor solve his existential crises, as he had subconsciously half-allowed himself to expect. He hoped, though didn't really believe, that his job might eventually lead him to finding something to genuinely enjoy; he had no idea that, once Jon came along and changed the direction of the show, the job itself would turn out to be that thing. In other words, Jon didn't merely help him find the solution to his problem, Jon _was_ that solution. And this was more than just renewed hope that someday Stephen could have a successful career―more than tangible proof that he could have a successful career―it was actually having a successful career! If anything, he was enamored with the realization that he might not have to be bored forever.

He knew that he was still enamored with that realization, unrequitedly. And yet, working so closely with Jon stimulated Stephen in a way that he knew could overwhelm him if he didn't watch it closely. As it was, Stephen was just happy for once to be along for the ride. Despite how embarrassing it was, the more he relaxed and allowed these starstruck, admiring feelings for Jon to develop, the happier and more productive he was, so he purposefully fanned the flames and gave himself permission to enjoy his man-crush for its own sake.

The crazy thing was that Jon seemed to really like him, too. Although he had no way of knowing which of Jon's actions were genuine and which were part of the job and the duty of a good boss, he genuinely felt that they had a personal investment in one another that went beyond professional bounds, and he was as sure of that as he was of anything. Some of the things Jon said, Stephen was deeply ashamed to realize, made him blush to contemplate for weeks and months afterward. He said that Stephen's jokes were more in line with Jon's own sense of humor than those of any other writer; he said he connected with him because the things he wrote were things he personally found funny; he said they share a certain way of seeing the world; he actually said he had been wondering why he repeatedly stayed to hang out with Stephen hours after his obligation to the show was officially over. Hearing him say these types of things was weirdly thrilling: Stephen wasn't sure whether his interpretation of his boss's words was wildly off base, or whether Jon actually meant what he seemed to be saying.

It didn't help that his blue eyes, dark hair, and charming smile were right up Stephen's alley.

Stephen was delighted yet confused by Jon's tendency to single him out for hours of extra attention, his openness to discussing personal matters. At first, Stephen wondered if there was something more to these actions, something he refused to articulate even to himself; he convinced himself he was imagining things, then convinced himself he wasn't, and went back and forth, again and again, until he was finally forced to acknowledge the ambiguity. Stephen always considered himself a straightforward, direct person, and made it a point to always confront a subject immediately as soon as it came up. This time, however, he was stymied. Whenever he decided to bring it up to Jon, he realized he didn't even know whether there was anything to bring up―and even if there was, he had no idea what the words for it might be.

He found himself in the strange position of being determined to take action, but unsure whether a situation existed; resolved to come clean no matter the consequences, but with nothing to confess. Stephen would finalize what he was going to say the next time he got the chance, just before finding some new evidence that he'd read the situation all wrong. The layers of ambiguity were even more stimulating and frankly fun to navigate than the original compliments and innuendo that had started the whole mess, and Stephen soon found himself worked up past any point of reason, obsessed with getting to the bottom of whatever was or wasn't happening.

All this explained why Stephen, head spinning, heart pounding, found himself standing outside his boss's office door late one Thursday evening after nearly all the staff had left. It wasn't too late yet, he could still turn back. But how could he go on not knowing? He knocked and Jon invited him in warmly. Stephen gratefully accepted his offer of beer and sat on the couch while Jon scooted his chair around his desk and closer to his employee. They chatted about segments they were planning for the show, and as always, Stephen could have sworn there was some kind of tension between them, not unpleasant, but vaguely unnerving. Moving his chair so close, for example―didn't he know that could be misinterpreted?

_Please, it would only be misinterpreted by a creepy fan-boy like me._

Jon noticed Stephen's attention wander. "Is there anything in particular you came to talk about, by the way?" he asked, all too soon.

Stephen gulped. What he'd rehearsed in his head sounded weird, and it could only sound weirder said aloud. "There sort of is. I guess I was wondering if there's any reason…you…talk to me so much."

Jon's eyebrow raised.

Stephen hastily amended, "I'm not saying you talk too much, you're just really nice to me. I mean, I'm not saying it's a bad thing, I like it. I mean…" _don't dig yourself any deeper, Colbert..._ "I'm not saying I like it in a weird way, I just enjoy your company." _So much deeper._

By now both of Jon's eyebrows were in danger of disappearing into his hairline. "Well, you know why that is, Stephen, right?"

"Do I?"

"Absolutely. It's because I'm trying to seduce you."

Stephen's heart leapt despite himself. _He's joking about it, which means it's diametric to the truth, which of course I already knew… At least this is a chance to redeem myself._ "Is that so, Mr. Stewart? And do you intend to report that to HR?"

"We only have to report relationships to HR, Colbert. Not enticements into illicit liaisons."

"That seems like a huge loophole in the company policy."

"Are you insinuating my large loophole is too loose?"

"Never! Although...if any technicality of easy virtue can squeeze its way in there, I don't know if I want to be associated with it."

"You're not really trying to convince me you have a spotless reputation, are you? We've all heard the rumors."

Stephen knew Jon was still kidding, but still couldn't help but flush slightly at the old memories that arose unbidden of certain unambiguous incidents with male theater students in dressing rooms and deserted black boxes. His guilty secrets.

Jon grinned at the color in Stephen's cheeks. "I think the rumors are very close to being confirmed! Normally I'd send my best reporter out there to get more details on the story as it develops, but considering he _is_ the story, maybe I need to do some investigating of my own."

Stephen recovered and scoffed. "Please...you couldn't investigate your way out of an unlocked evidence room with a magnifying glass and a fingerprinting kit."

Jon tutted. "Don't you know it's all about DNA testing these days? The trick is getting the sample, you see."

"Is it now? What's your preferred procedure?"

"Oh, I like some soft lighting and Marvin Gaye on the stereo to set the mood…add a Hustler and a quick twist of the wrist and you've got a DNA sample on your hands, guaranteed."

Stephen mimed a wrist twist with his beer bottle. "What, like this? You'll have to show me your technique sometime."

"What's wrong with right now?"

Stephen opened his mouth to respond but couldn't think of a witty rejoinder. What Jon had said wasn't all that witty to begin with, either. "Nothing wrong at all," Stephen said carefully, "it's late at night, there's no one around…"

Jon was giving him a piercing look. Appraising. "Sure," he said casually, after a long pause. He stood up and walked over to Stephen, who tensed as he sat down next to him on the couch. If he relaxed his leg they'd touch, and he didn't dare. He swore he could smell the pheromones in the air.

"You just grab it at the base…" Jon began, pretending to demonstrate. "Wait a minute, you're a righty," he said.

"Yeah, but I dress to the left."

"And I bet you're uncircumcised, aren't you? Oh forget it, it's all wrong, my technique will never work for you!" said Jon, standing up to return to his seat.

"Wait. Try it," Stephen blurted, grabbing Jon to hold him in place.

Jon looked at Stephen's hold on his shirt. At some point it had become too late to turn back, but he was damned if he had any clue when that had been.

Jon surprised Stephen by suddenly leaning down and kissing him, which, for all his shameful thoughts about Jon, he hadn't expected at all. But it felt so natural and comfortable, a medium sort of kiss, heads tilted, lips parted, his hands finding their way to Jon's lapels, Jon's hands lightly resting on the sides of his neck. He felt like the passenger in a speeding car with no driver, as the tingling sensation of arousal spread in its familiar way through his chest and groin, and he knew he had to give up all hope of trying to control what was happening.

Tentatively taking the lead again, Jon pulled away, carefully pushed Stephen down so he was laying on his back, and climbed up to straddle him, knees on either side of Stephen's waist. The knowledge that it was far too late to turn back, rather than filling Stephen with dread, now struck him as a freedom. The decision―the hard part―was in the past, and the consequences were in the future, unknown. Now all that was left was for him to enjoy making the most of this thrilling mistake.

Jon shifted with purpose, grinding his hips experimentally, and Stephen's eyes fluttered shut as he felt himself start to harden from the friction. He suspected that the small amount of contact wouldn't normally have this strong an effect on him, regardless of how attractive he found him, but the pent-up secrecy and nerves had contributed to a dramatic heightening of his senses. Then Jon's lips were caressing his neck, his jaw, and his weak spot, his ears. He was slightly embarrassed to let out a low moan, but it seemed to encourage Jon, who decisively tugged Stephen's shirt free from his waistband and unbuttoned it.

Stephen had contemplated this happening before, whenever he dared let himself, but in none of the erotic permutations and variations had his imagination supplied the exact look of hunger on Jon's face, which was making his breath catch and his blood rush. Jon stripped his shirt the rest of the way off and his hands immediately started exploring the novelty of Stephen's bare torso, through the chest hair, over the nipples, the muscles, the slight softness of the stomach. 

Jon's lingering fingers drifted down to reach for Stephen's belt. His hands fumbled a little with the buckle, and seeing the awkwardness and the utter ordinariness of that small action abruptly flipped a switch in Stephen, something connected to his tendency toward hero-worship and his lifelong feelings of inferiority. So strong was the effect that, for once, he didn't even have room left over to feel ashamed. His hands had so far strayed no further than resting on Jon's waist, but now one caught Jon's wrist and the other propped himself up in a more dominant position. Jon looked up at him, clearly pleased with the sudden disappearance of his passivity.

"What do you think of my technique?"

Jon was smug. "Almost as good as mine."

Stephen laughed and tried to block out everything from his mind besides his fingertips, which undid Jon's pants, swiftly tugged them off, and returned to their objective. Jon shuddered at the initial contact and let out a slow, controlled breath as Stephen began to stroke his cock in a strong, steady rhythm. Stephen's intense, memorizing focus and sense of detached unreality fought for control as he pumped harder and faster. Jon's murmurs of assent rose in pitch and volume, but they never seemed to reach a crest, just plateaued in fervor, even when Stephen bowed to add his mouth to his ministrations. His head bobbed between Jon's legs, and he kept his teeth wrapped behind his lips, trying to reproduce the actions he himself enjoyed. He wanted so badly to take Jon over the edge, but he couldn't seem to make it happen, although his jaw was starting to ache and his own need was growing.

Without stopping, he released the wrist and moved to unbutton his own pants, but as soon as Jon's hand was free he sat up and wriggled away. Stripping Stephen completely this time, Jon sat him down, knelt, and took him in his mouth. Another involuntary groan attested to his pleasure, but as amazing as it felt, it wasn't what Stephen needed right then, and and after just a few moments, he asked, "do you have any…?"

Jon grinned and jumped up to grab something from his desk drawer. He returned, laid back down, and handed Stephen a bottle of lube. "Be Prepared. I was in the Scouts."

"That explains why you're so homophobic," Stephen muttered distractedly, and it was his turn to fumble with inexperience as he squeezed a generous amount of liquid onto his fingers. He reached between them and circled Jon's ass slowly, allowing him to acclimate to the sensation, before tentatively, gently pushing one finger inside, two, three, each time waiting for Jon to wordlessly nod his assent. When even scissoring his fingers failed to interrupt Jon's even breathing, Stephen withdrew, and used his still-slippery hand to bring himself back to full hardness with a number of long strokes. He looked down at Jon, searching his eyes, and finding that hunger in them once again.

Eager to feed it, he knelt on the couch, positioned himself between Jon's legs, and slid his cock inside him as slowly as he could possibly stand. His heart rate spiked as the heat and tightness enveloped him, and Jon groaned with relish, so he began thrusting carefully, the roots of pleasure extending further within him with every motion.

"Okay?"

Jon breathed, "Harder."

Exactly what he wanted to hear. Gritting his teeth against the overstimulation, he leaned forward onto his elbows, tangled his fingers in the roots of Jon's hair, and began to drive himself powerfully into him over and over. Jon's knees pressed into his sides and his hands clutched his shoulders, encouraging him. Even though his breath was harsh and choppy, he felt in complete control, of his body, of his orgasm, of Jon. Skin slapped skin, each slam felt like it drove him deeper than the last. He interrupted his own motion briefly to straighten up and lift Jon's legs to rest on the front of his shoulders. He resumed his exertions, and suddenly gasped as the new angle's change in sensation wrenched all that control away. He ground his hips into Jon for as long as he could, closed his eyes, and gave a low groan as he came, rocked by exceptionally powerful pulses.

Once spent, all tension drained out of him, he lowered Jon's legs, but Jon wrapped them around Stephen's waist to prevent him from pulling out. Jon's eyes slid shut and he jerked himself off as Stephen watched, panting and captivated. As soon as Jon came and released him, he felt suddenly overcome with an emotion he couldn't identify. He leaned in despite the mess to kiss Jon deeply.

"What would you say is the opposite of shame?" he murmured against Jon's lips.

"Umm. Pride?"

"It feels more like…self-worth."

"What about it?"

"Oh, nothing. You know, you're a great boss, Jon. Have I ever told you that?"

"No, but I can tell just from the way you look at me. You idolize me."

"Actually, I don't," said Stephen, smiling.


End file.
